


Bucky Barnes and the Unpaid Debt

by SqueakyTiki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueakyTiki/pseuds/SqueakyTiki
Summary: Bucky'd been drafted, captured, experimented on, died, resurrected, tortured, brainwashed, and frozen.  Not to mention currently running with a group of superheros, one of which was his best friend who had himself been frozen for 70 years.  At this point, he really shouldn't have been surprised to find out fairies are real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly canon up to and including Civil War, but now it's heading in any direction I want bwahahaha.
> 
> Stucky will probably be mainly in the background, but we'll see.
> 
> My first time posting. I'll try to post once a week but we'll see how it goes. I do have the first few chapters outlined and an idea of where I want to go from there.

Bucky woke with a scream and struggled upright, fighting against the sheets that had tangled around his legs. “Fuck,” he panted, running a hand down his face. He was drenched in sweat, and his heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest.

He didn’t blame it. If he could escape from himself, he’d run too. It didn’t matter what Steve said. It didn’t matter that Stark had (apparently) forgiven him. It didn’t matter that the court had found him not guilty. Bucky remembered everything he’d done under fucking Hydra. And any time he managed to think he was finding some peace with it, here the goddamn nightmares came again to remind him what a weak piece of shit he was.

The clock by the bed read 2:13 am in accusing red letters. There was no getting back to sleep. There never was, after one of these nightmares. Bucky swore and got out of bed, heading for the shower. He couldn’t wash away his sins, but he could warm his bones and wash away the sweat at least. The apartment’s shitty water heater made its usual noisy protest when he turned the shower on, and he wondered again whether he should have taken Stark up on his offer to move into Avengers tower with the others. Bucky had been there to visit, and from what he’d seen the place was pretty swanky. And convenient. As it was, if they needed him for a mission they had to detour to Brooklyn to pick him up.

Bucky sighed and stood with his face turned up into the water flow. He’d have to move eventually, he knew, if only to put a stop to Steve’s goddamn pleading puppy eyes. But not yet. He wasn’t quite ready to give up his independence after so long as fucking Hydra’s puppet. And truth be told, Stark still made him uneasy no matter how much the man swore he’d gotten over Siberia. Their relationship had unfrozen enough that Bucky trusted him in a fight, at least, but to live in close proximity? He shuddered and turned the hot water up.

Eventually the hot water gave out, and Bucky was forced out of the shower. He dried off and dressed in jeans and a Henley, then studied himself in the mirror for a moment, wondering if he ought to get his hair cut again. It was heading down to his shoulders, and he was surprised Steve wasn’t nagging at him about it. He shrugged. It was his hair, and he rather liked it long. A trim, maybe, but he wasn’t chopping it all off.

It was mid-September and bound to be at least somewhat chilly at this time of night, so Bucky snatched up his black leather jacket on his way out the door, shrugging it on and pulling the leather gloves out of the pockets. The vibranium arm T’Challa’s people had built him was beautiful, a work of art as well as a technological wonder, but he still preferred to keep it hidden. He locked the door behind him and headed out into the night, letting his feet determine the destination.

It wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to go wandering Brooklyn at night when he couldn’t sleep. The alternative was staring at the peeling wallpaper in his apartment or maybe the TV, feeling like he was about to twitch out of his skin. He’d tried that route, and wound up with a few holes punched in the damn walls. No fucking thanks.

Bucky crossed a street and wondered if maybe he ought to give in and get a therapist like everyone kept saying he should. He was skeptical. How the hell was talking supposed to help him? But damn, he was starting to get desperate enough to try it. He wasn’t sleeping enough, and was having trouble eating. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He’d slip out of fighting shape, and knowing his fucking luck, that would be when some asshole would strike.

Which would be another reason to live in the tower. The security was state of the art, and he’d have a whole team there if Hydra decided to try to reclaim their asset, or someone else decided the Winter Soldier would make a dandy tool in their toolbox. _You will be the new fist of Hydra,_ a voice whispered in his brain, and Bucky stumbled. Just a memory, he told himself, grabbing onto a nearly lamppost. Just a fucking memory. Shit. Shit. Breathe, goddamn it. Spots swam in front of his eyes, and he could hear himself gasping.

An eternity later, Bucky finally managed to get his heart rate under control and himself firmly centered in the here and now. Yeah, okay. Therapist. Anything was worth a try. He’d get Natasha to help vet potentials. And insist Steve see one too. Stubborn punk had his own nightmares, Bucky knew, and refused to do anything about it either. So he’d make a deal. He’d get his ass to therapy if the punk would do the same. Win-win. 

He hoped.

Bucky took a deep breath of the crisp night air then let it out, letting go of the lamp post, which now bore a nice set of finger marks from his metal arm. Oh well. It was still standing. He resumed his walk, realizing he was heading for the park he went to sometimes.

A cry of pain sliced through the night air, and for a moment Bucky wondered whether he was back in his own memories. But no, that cry had been real. He hastened his steps into the park, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Another cry reached his ears, and his eyes lit upon a group of men standing in a circle near a clump of trees. In the middle of the circle lay a crumpled female figure.

What happened next was inevitable. Steve Rogers wasn’t the only one who didn’t like bullies, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

It only took a few moments. When all the men lay groaning and whimpering on the ground, Bucky knelt by the circle and studied the young woman lying within. The moon was full and the light enough for him to see reasonably well. Between dark skin, black hair, and a glint of green he spotted in a half-open eye, she appeared to be of mixed ethnicity, and he wondered if that was behind all this.

Well, he could speculate on that later. The woman shifted and let out a small whimper of pain, and Bucky ran his eyes over her jeans and t-shirt clad form, looking for injuries. Her clothing was torn in a few places, and shone wetly in the moonlight, making him frown. “Miss? Can you hear me?” he asked softly. When he got no answer, he tried again. “Miss? It’s all right, they won’t hurt you anymore. I’ll call an ambulance.” Bucky fished his phone out of his pocket, and then halted as a surprisingly strong feminine hand latched onto his right wrist. Her eyes were open now, and glaring at him. “No.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re bleeding. You need medical treatment." One of the men to his left started struggling upright, and he slammed his metal fist into the asshole’s head without even looking. “I gotta call for help, doll,” Bucky told the woman gently. “You need – “

“No.” The word was hissed out, and sharp fingernails dug into his wrist. Vivid green eyes narrowed at him, glazed with pain yet somehow intimidating. “I’ll be…fine. Just…” She sagged back onto the ground, fingers slipping from his wrist.

Bucky sighed and pocketed his phone. “Fine, then I’m taking you back to my apartment. I have a good first aid kit. We’ll see how bad you’re hurt, but if it’s too bad, we’ll be having this argument again.” He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. It was crazy, yet he found himself reaching out to scoop her up, pausing before he actually touched her. “If I slide my arms under you, is it going to make anything worse?”

She shook her head, and he completed the motion then stood, cradling her in his arms. His boot scuffed the edge of the circle as he did, and he was startled at a zapping sound accompanied by sparks. “What the hell… “ Bucky eyed the circle warily, backing away from it. As they moved away, the figure in his arms let out a sigh of relief.

“Oooohkay. We’ll be talking about that later. What’s your name, doll?” Bucky glanced around at the men on the ground, reassuring himself he’d used non-lethal force, and then headed for his apartment.

“That’s a personal question.” Her voice was husky, and held equal parts pain and amusement.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Well, my name’s Bucky, and if you don’t want me to keep calling you doll, sweetheart, dollface – hey, stay awake now.“ Her eyes had closed, and she’d gone limp in his arms. He cursed and moved faster.

Under the bright lights of his bathroom, she turned out to be stunningly beautiful, with a lithe figure. Silky black hair fell to her shoulders. Her skin was a warm brown, where it wasn’t marred with contusions and cuts. Her feet and legs were bare, toenails unpolished, as were her fingernails. 

Bucky cursed when he realized how much blood loss the dark had hidden. Most of her cuts were fairly shallow, but someone had obviously taken a knife to her side. It was bleeding sluggishly, and her shirt on that side was soaked with blood. Bucky carefully moved it aside for a better look, and then froze.

He hadn’t noticed until now, but the blood seeping from her body looked distinctly odd. It gleamed in the light, shining like liquid rubies.

What. The. Hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are short, but that seems to be the way my writing is going these days. And I figured better more frequent, shorter postings than waiting forever between updates. Let me know if it's annoying, though. :)

Cleaning his weapons was Bucky’s go-to when he was stressed, so he was sitting on the living room floor with his guns spread out in front of him when someone knocked on his apartment door. “It’s unlocked, punk,” he called out. 

Steve walked in, wearing a quizzical expression. “Hey, Buck. How’d you know it was me?” Steve asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Because I called Hill like a good little soldier on the way here. You’re here about those assholes in the park, yeah?”

“If by assholes you mean a group of men with broken bones, concussions and various other injuries, then yes. I’m here about that.”

“Hey, I left them alive,” Bucky pointed out. “Yay me.” He risked a glance through the long brown hair hanging in his face, hoping not to see the patented Steven G Rogers Disappointed Look ™. He hated that look. Everyone else called it the Captain America is Disappointed in You look, but Bucky’d been crumpling under that gaze long before Captain America existed.

To his relief, Steve’s expression spoke of curiosity, not disappointment. “So what happened?” he asked, lowering himself into a chair.

“Didn’t Hill tell you when she tattled on me?”

“I want to hear it from you, Buck.”

Bucky scowled at the gun in his hand. “They were beating up a woman. I stopped ‘em. ” He put the now-spotless gun down and leaned back, shaking his hair out of his face, only to be met with the sight of Steve beaming at him. Steve’s smiles were like sunlight anyway, chasing away shadows, providing warmth and comfort, and inviting smiles back. Turned up all the way, they were near lethal, setting the recipient on fire inside and inspiring all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

Or maybe that was just Bucky.

Jesus Christ. 

And that was the other reason Bucky hadn’t moved into Avengers Tower. Being in close proximity to Steve 24/7 risked exposure of a secret Bucky’d been keeping for over seventy years, a secret that could sent the center of his world spinning away from him, never to return.

No fucking thank you.

Aware his thoughts were stuttering, Bucky tried to clamp down on himself, but too late. A hitched breath escaped him, and he covered it with a cough. Bad choice. The patented Steven G Rogers Sunshine Smile ™ faded, sky-blue eyes gave Bucky’s a penetrating look, and panic ensued.

“There’s a naked woman in my bed.” What the hell, mouth?

Blonde eyebrows rose.

“Uh. Not naked exactly, I mean I put her in one of my shirts –“ Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

The eyebrows climbed higher.

“Though I’m not really sure she’s a woman actually.” Bucky groaned and smacked his face into his palms, leaving it there. “I’m not really sure she’s human,” he finished, voice muffled. 

Fuck.

There was a silence so loud it practically echoed, then, “What?” 

Bucky sighed, removed his head from his hands and hopefully his foot from his mouth, and started from the beginning.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve and Bucky stood in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at a bed that was just barely large enough to fit a super-soldier. It was decked out in rumpled silvery-grey sheets and a red and black bedspread, with an improbable number of pillows. 

It was also empty.

“What the hell? She was here. I swear.” Bucky darted around the room, checking closets and corners. He even ducked his head under the bed. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Um, Buck…are you feeling okay?”

Bucky pulled his head out from under the bed so fast he nearly hit it on the frame. “I’m not fucking hallucinating, Steve!” he hissed. “Maybe she snuck into the kitchen.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “She snuck past you. You were a master assassin for seventy years, and a severely wounded woman managed to get past you without you noticing.”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky grumbled, and went to check the kitchen.

It was empty. The kitchen held the only window in his pathetic apartment, and it was still firmly painted shut. From the living room, Steve called, “Oh hey, when’d you get a cat?”

What?

“I don’t have a cat,” Bucky headed for the living room and stopped in the doorway, staring. Steve was kneeling on the floor, petting a black cat that seemed to be greatly enjoying the attention. Bucky rubbed his eyes, then looked again. The cat was still there. It was a big cat, probably between twenty and thirty pounds, with a shiny black coat and green eyes.

“What’s her name?” Steve asked.

“Hell if I know.” 

“Well, you’ll think of something.”

What the fuck ever, Bucky decided, and went back to the kitchen for a glass of water. Maybe he was hallucinating. Would he even know if he was? He stared at the glass, feeling dazed.

“Thought any more about moving into the tower?” Steve asked from behind him. “I’d really like to have you there with me. It’s really nice, too. You’d have a lot more room. Decent sized bed. How do you even sleep on that thing?”

Bed. That sent Bucky’s brain hurtling in a direction that caused his hand to spasm around the glass, nearly breaking it. He set it carefully aside and schooled his expression before he turned around to face Steve.

Crap. Sky-blue eyes were looking at him with concern. “You sure you’re okay, Buck?”

“I’m fine, punk.” Desperate to change the subject, Bucky found himself saying, “Yeah, actually, I’ve been thinking it might not be a bad idea. Gym right there and all. And a shooting range.” He managed a credible grin, then looked away. “And no more listening to you whining.” He punched Steve’s shoulder lightly, then made the mistake of looking directly at Steve’s face.

Crap. The sunshine smile was turned up to approximately 4000%, and Bucky’s knees went weak. He locked them to keep from wobbling, and babbled, “Therapist might not be so bad, either. Worth a try right? I mean, so many damn people seem to swear by it and all, so what the hell.”

He forced his flapping jaws shut before anything else came out and looked at the floor. He could feel sweat beginning to bead around his hairline, and began to give serious thought to sewing his own mouth shut.

“That’s great, Buck!” Steve clapped a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder and left it there to add to the heat crawling through Bucky’s body. Steve went on for a bit about the Tower and the therapist Wilson had apparently recommended, but Bucky was too busy willing himself not to blush to really absorb it all. Fucking hell.

Steve finally wound down and headed for the doorway, the cat winding her way through his legs as he went. “Well, I’ll let Stark know to get your apartment ready. If it isn’t already. Knowing him, it probably is. And Doc Kennedy will give you a call.”

Oh joy. Bucky watched Steve navigate the cat and Bucky’s guns on the floor with a grace that was almost mesmerizing, then pried his feet from the floor and followed. He expected the standard lecture about his locks not being good enough, but instead got one about leaving the door unlocked. He nodded through it, said his goodbyes, then leaned his forehead against the door, listening to the sound of Steve’s retreating footsteps.

He wondered if Avengers Tower had straitjackets.

“You’re an idiot,” said a voice from behind him, and he definitely did not squeak in surprise. Master assassins do not squeak. He did whirl around, adopting a defensive posture with a knife in his metal hand and a gun in the other.

The woman from earlier sat on the couch, posture relaxed and green eyes sparkling with amusement. She was no longer wearing Bucky’s shirt. Instead she had on a sleeveless red dress that ended just above her knees, with matching high-heeled shoes. Red gleamed from each earlobe and at the tip of each fingernail.

“Oh aren’t you just adorable,” she cooed at him. “With your little weapons and your hackles all raised. I could just eat you up. Calm down, Bucky.” She pronounced his name with a hint of glee. “Harming you would be a very poor way to repay you for your kindness, after all. You helped me out of quite the predicament.”

“Who the hell – no, what the hell are you?” Bucky demanded, not putting his weapons away.

“You may call me Bricriu,” the woman said. 

“Brick-roo,” Bucky said doubtfully.

“Bricriu,” she corrected.

“Brick – I’m just gonna call you Bree,” Bucky decided, lowering his weapons a bit but not putting them away. He had a vague memory of having heard the name Bree at some point in his childhood, and it was close enough.

Bree stared at him, then threw back her head and let out a peal of musical laughter. Nonplussed, Bucky stared while she laughed until tears were streaming down her face. Finally, Bucky rolled his eyes, put his weapons away, and stomped into the kitchen. He needed vodka for this conversation, even if it couldn’t get him drunk.

When he returned with the bottle and two shot glasses, she seemed to have herself under control. “You still bleeding under that dress?” Bucky asked, filling the shot glasses.

He got no answer at first, so he set one of the shot glasses on the coffee table in front of her and settled into an armchair. Bree looked thoughtfully at him for a few moments, then seemed to come to some sort of a decision. “No. I am fine now.”

“Oh-kay. You didn’t answer my question.” Bucky sipped his vodka and raised an eyebrow at her.

“I gave you a name to call me by,” she replied, picking up her own shot glass. “As to what I am, I believe I’ll let you figure that out. It’ll be ever so much fun that way.” She smirked, then sipped and nodded her approval at the vodka. 

Bucky snorted. “According to you, I’m an idiot, so how the hell am I gonna figure anything out?”

“Oh, I believe you’ll manage eventually.” She waved a red-tipped hand. “I suspect you’re only an idiot about the blond hunk who just left.”

Bucky choked on his vodka, then spluttered incoherently.

“I owe you a debt,” Bree went on, eyeing him speculatively. “Perhaps I can help you in that area. Give him a bit of a… nudge?”

Bucky’s shot glass hit the coffee table, and he shot to his feet. “Stay. Away. From him,” he growled, fists clenched.

“Tch. Calm yourself, cutie. I shan’t touch him then, no fear.” She sipped her vodka, supremely unconcerned at the Winter Soldier Murder Face aimed her direction. “I had originally thought to offer sex, but I suspect you would not be interested. Very well, then. You tell me what I can do for you. Help you sleep peacefully at night? Upgrade your wardrobe? How about a – no, not a car. A motorcycle, I think.” She tapped her chin with one red-tipped nail as she thought.

Bucky sat back down slowly. “I don’t need anything. You don’t owe me anything. Just forget it.”

Bree sniffed. “Nonsense. I’ll think of something.” She set her vodka down and stood in one graceful movement. “But let me give you something to think about.” She stepped closer to Bucky’s chair and leaned down a bit to whisper, “I owe you for my life, and for the vodka. My people always pay their debts. And if you don’t make the decision as to how, I will.”

She gave him a smile that was full of teeth. Some of them were decidedly too sharp. “I believe the saying is, see you later, Bucky.” With that, she sauntered out of Bucky’s apartment, closing the door along the way.

Bucky sat for a while, consuming vodka and contemplating current events. After some time he sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and decided food and sleep were in order. It wasn’t until he stood that he realized his guns had all vanished from the floor. A quick search found them all hidden in their usual places around his apartment.

Flinging his hands up, he gave up on the day and went to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long between posts. I'm struggling with massive depression. 
> 
> Thank you to all who have left kudos. It's much appreciated! Comments would also be appreciated.

“So they’re thinking cult, huh?” Bucky stared out the window, watching New York slide by. He’d never been in a limousine before, at least not that he remembered. Why the hell had Stark Junior sent a limousine to help move what little stuff Bucky had into the Tower?

Heh. Junior. Bucky contemplating calling Stark that to his face, just to watch his veins pop out. Might not be wise considering he was moving into the man’s building. He contemplated that for a bit while Steve nattered on about what Hill’s minions had found out about the fracas in the park. “Wait, what?” he asked as something Steve said dragged his attention back to the conversation. He turned his head to see Steve raising an eyebrow at him.

“Which part? The weird symbols etched around the outside of that circle on the ground you found your mystery woman in? The consultant’s name? The fact that your mystery woman has yet to be spotted anywhere?” Steve smirked at him.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “The circle, punk. What the consultant – is his name really Strange? What Strange said about the circle.”

“He didn’t say a lot. Something about a trap and stealing energy.” Steve frowned. “Or eating it.” 

“How does that lead to a cult?”

Steve shrugged. “Apparently there are cults that do that. At least I think that’s what he said. I honestly only understood about half of it.”

Bucky huffed. “Or you weren’t even listening.”

“Oh, like you were listening just then?” Steve teased, which led Bucky to punch him on the shoulder. Which in turn led to ear boxing, hair ruffling, and all out wrestling in the back of the limousine. Just like the good old days – well, except for the limo. It was rather fun, really, and Bucky caught himself actually chuckling before the driver cleared his throat loudly and announced they were there.

Bucky untangled himself from Steve, firmly keeping his mind away from anything awkward, and fished around on the seat for his hair tie. “Look what you did, punk. M’ hair’s all messed up.”

“So get a haircut, jerk.” Steve grinned and slid out of the vehicle, grabbing boxes on the way. Bucky snorted as he tied his hair back then picked up an armful of boxes and followed.

“Prrrroaw,” came from the shadows of the parking garage, and a twenty-odd pound black cat landed on Bucky’s metal shoulder, claws digging into his shirt. If Bucky were a smaller man, he’d have staggered a bit. “See, Steve. Told you she’d find me.”

Steve blinked a bit then scowled. “I also told you it isn’t good for her to come and go so much. She could get hit by a car or something. And you really need to get some things for her, Bucky.” He tutted in disapproval and turned his back, following Happy into the elevator while the cat on Bucky’s shoulder sneezed in derision.

Bucky sighed, hefted his own boxes, and followed. He hadn’t actually been sure the cat would follow him to the tower. She hadn’t shown up at his apartment since the one time. But he had occasionally felt eyes on him as he walked around the city, and he’d been unable to locate the watcher. Just green eyes gleaming here and there, gone as soon as he tried to focus on them.

The whole thing creeped him out, but what could he do about it? Steve’s mother had told the two of them stories when they were kids, about the daoine sidhe, fairy rings, and things that happened to those that offended the fair folk. Bucky remembered enough to have a good suspicion about what exactly his mystery woman was, and that she and the cat were the same. He’d concluded there was fuck-all he could do about it at the moment other than ignore Steve’s suggestion about a litter box, because that seemed rather insulting and he valued his nuts right where they were. 

The cat hissed as they all piled into the elevator, and Happy edged away from her. “Ah…does Mr. Stark know you have a pet?” he asked politely.

“Hell if I know,” Bucky responded. “Why, he allergic to cats?” he asked, suddenly feeling more cheerful.

Steve frowned. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I mentioned the cat. But Bucky can keep her on his floor, I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” he added as the elevator doors opened.

Stark himself was leaning on a wall across from the elevator, working on a cup of coffee. The man was wearing a grease-stained Metallica shirt and ripped jeans, and yet Bucky felt sure those clothes cost more than his own, non-stained and hole-free Henley and jeans. Plus everything in all of Bucky’s boxes. 

Of course Stark’s eyes went first to Bucky’s occupied shoulder. “No pets,” he said immediately. “What the hell is that, anyway, it looks like a cat but it can’t be a cat. No cat is that big, seriously. Is this a murder cat? It’s a murder cat, isn’t it. No pets allowed, get that furry monstrosity out of my tower.”

The cat hissed, making Stark jump. Bucky smirked and stepped out of the elevator, looking around and letting Steve try to defuse the situation.

The place was nice. Really nice. It was set up similarly to Steve’s, with an eclectic blend of old-fashioned and modern that somehow worked seamlessly together. The floor had a grey distressed-wood look to it, with the walls painted a dusky blue. As he moved into the living room, he noticed the couch and chairs were positioned facing the entrance. Rugs in shades of blues and greens softened the floors, and end tables here and there held items from plants to books to framed pictures. He picked up a picture and stared.

It was an old black and white picture, taken during the war. He and Steve had their arms slung around each other, smiling, and Bucky stared at it until his vision blurred. A soft pat on his cheek and a purr in his ear brought him out of it, and he blinked and set the picture down, absently reaching up to pet the cat on his shoulder. He moved on, noting the state-of-the-art sound system and television, along with a partially filled bookcase. 

The kitchen was modestly sized, with a small table and four chairs. It was modern, though, with gleaming stainless steel appliances. Bucky wasn’t sure what a few of them did. He wasn’t much of a cook anyway, and he knew Steve ate on the common floor with the others most nights. He supposed he’d do the same, but it was still nice to know he could eat in when having a bad day.

The bathroom had a deep old-fashioned clawed tub as well as a modern-looking shower, and the bedroom had a bed so big Bucky just stopped and stared at it for a moment. He felt the cat shifting on his shoulder, then she jumped straight over to the bed, rolling around on the soft-looking bedspread with a purr. Bucky chuckled. “Comfy, eh?” He looked around, noting no windows in this room. Not that it mattered, probably, considering how many floors up they were. But old habits die hard.

Bucky sat down on the bed, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve all this,” he whispered, covering his eyes. A paw patted softly at his arm in a gesture that seemed comforting, and he swallowed heavily. “Th – er. I mean.” Bucky remembered enough of Sarah Rogers’ tales to know better than to thank the cat. He sighed and cleared his throat, taking his hand away from his eyes. “Your concern is much appreciated,” he said to the cat. “But I’m fine.”

Talking to a cat. A maybe-cat. A probably not-cat. Either he was ready for a straitjacket, or Bucky’s life was getting even weirder. He tried not to think about why the cat was being so nice to him, not to mention the fact that he’d actually petted her a few minutes ago. Shit. 

Bucky took a deep breath and stood, squaring his shoulders. Seventy years of being a monster notwithstanding, his mother had raised him with manners. He needed to thank Stark. Bucky headed purposefully back toward the apartment entrance and the argument between Stark and Steve. 

He was in time to see Pepper Potts arrive, dressed to the nines in a business suit and heels. Said heels clacked on the floor as she made her way over to Tony and whapped him lightly on the head. “Hey,” Stark protested, and Bucky repressed a smile.

“We will of course allow Bucky to have his pet,” Pepper assured Steve, smiling as if she hadn’t just turned an argument on its end. “Won’t we, Tony?” She turned her smile on Stark, something steely in her eyes. Stark opened his mouth, closed it, and simply nodded. Bucky decided right then and there that Pepper Potts was a goddess.

He also suddenly knew the perfect way to poke at Stark, but first things first. He gave Pepper a respectful nod. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Potts – Pepper,” he corrected himself before she could. They’d hashed that out already. 

“Bucky,” she murmured in return, smiling warmly at him. “So glad to have you here finally.”

Bucky smiled back at her and turned to Tony, carefully schooling his expression to simple gratitude. “Tony, I can’t thank you enough. This place is great.”

Stark’s left eye twitched.

“Really,” Bucky continued. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.“

Stark’s whole face made a weird seizing motion. “Yeah, whatever.” He waved a hand, looking like someone had poured itching powder in his pants. “Can’t have Cap moping around like a sad golden retriever. It’s probably a law somewhere. Gotta go, things to build, genius at work, all that.” He made a hasty exit to the elevator as Steve snickered and Pepper covered her mouth.

“You’re a pal, Tony,” Bucky called after him. There was a spluttering that Bucky assumed was due to his comment until Tony spit out his coffee. “What the hell, is that salt, how did salt get in my coffee –“ The elevator doors closed, and Bucky turned an apologetic face to Pepper. “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”

Steve broke, howling with laughter as he slid down the wall to the floor. Pepper took her hand off her mouth and giggled, eyes dancing. “Oh please. No apologies needed. He needed it and deserved it. I am glad you like your apartment.”

“I do,” Bucky told her, ignoring Steve. “I suspect I detect your impeccable taste in the design.”

“It wasn’t all me,” Pepper demurred. “Natasha helped with the furniture. Steve provided some of the decor.”

“Hey, punk,” Bucky turned to Steve, whose laughter was finally dying down. “Remind me to thank Natasha. And don’t think I missed that some of the art on the walls is your work. You’re painting again?”

Steve shrugged and pulled himself up off the floor, suddenly looking shy. “Just a few things. I wanted your place to look nice, but homey.”

“It does,” Bucky told them both. “Thank you.” He kissed Pepper’s cheek, causing her to blush. “For everything.” He pulled Steve into a rough hug, then clapped him on the back and cleared his throat. 

“I’m glad to help. Let me know if you need anything, please,” Pepper told him. Her phone chimed, and she made a face. “I have to run. Team dinner tonight if you’re feeling up to it.” She gave him a smile and headed for the elevator.

Steve looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ll leave you to settle in, Buck. I’ll go get some stuff for your poor neglected cat,” he teased, joining Pepper in the elevator.

“Better you than me, pal,” Bucky muttered under his breath, waving at his departing friends and heading back toward the bedroom. Steve always had known when Bucky needed space.

He was completely unsurprised to find Bree lounging on the bed in jean shorts and a pink sparkly top, looking smug. He leaned in the doorway. “Salt in Stark’s coffee? Really?”

She sniffed. “He annoyed me. He annoys me. This whole place annoys me. You would move to a place filled with so much cold iron, designed by the Iron Man.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You know, you’re dropping hints all over the place as to what you really are.”

Bree eyed him, smirking. “And yet you seem unsurprised.”

“Steve’s ma was from the old country. Told us all kinds of stories when we were kids.” Bucky tapped his head. “Some of it’s even coming back.”

“Really?” Bree shifted to lie on her stomach, propping her head in her hands. Her black hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she almost looked like a teenager. “So how much did Mrs. Rogers know, then?” 

“Enough for me to ask Stark what my arm was made of. I wondered why it wasn’t a problem. Turns out there’s nothing even close to iron in it.” Bucky moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “So what, is it poisonous to you or something?”

“Or something,” she murmured. “What else?”

Bucky grimaced. “I know it’s not a good idea to piss you off.”

Bree laughed in delight. “Right you are, cutie, right you are.” She bopped him on the nose with a pink-painted fingernail, making him scowl and draw back.

“So how does this work, exactly?” Bucky asked. “You figure you owe me a debt, so you stalk me until you figure you’ve paid it?” He tried to keep annoyance out of his voice.

She shrugged. “Something like that. I haven’t decided on just exactly what to do yet.” She shifted to sit up, drawing her legs under her. “I’m studying you, Bucky Barnes,” she purred, green eyes boring into him. 

He couldn’t quite suppress a gulp. “Um. Why?“

“You interest me. You’ve been through hell on earth, and yet you remain what humans consider a good man. You are strong, and fierce, and you are not afraid of me. You are…let’s see, what is that term humans use these days?” She tapped her chin. “Oh yes. Badass. Not as badass as myself, of course, but for a human…oh yes, you’re quite badass. And interesting.”

Bucky stared at her, dimly aware he’d stopped breathing.

Bree grinned at him. “I think the days to come will be quite exciting indeed.” Bucky blinked, and she was gone. He let out a breath, staring at the empty space on the bed where she’d been and feeling a cold chill crawl down his spine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare.

Bucky stared at the chair in front of him, feeling his insides turn to ice. Dark rust-colored stains testified to unremembered attempts to fight the inevitable. He eyed the halo-like head device and took a step back. Something in his peripheral vision snagged his attention, and he turned his head. The cryotube sat a few feet away, humming with power. Bucky swallowed hard, feeling the echo of ice in his bones. He’d destroyed the chair and the cryotube at some point after pulling Steve out of the Potomac. Hadn’t he?

How were they here?

Terror made his Bucky’s hands shake. A dark chuckle came from behind him, and he whirled around to face a figure hidden in a shadowy corner. “Time to get back to work, Soldat,” an accented voice told him, and Bucky wanted to throw up. He knew that voice. That voice could make him dance like a puppet on a string. But it was the voice of a dead man.

How was he _here_?

Bucky shook his head frantically and took a single step back, then froze. He felt his fists clenching, but he couldn’t make his limbs move to attack. All he could do is stand and shake.

“It’s okay, Buck,” came a familiar voice to his left, and he turned his head. “Steve!” Bucky felt his shoulders relax a bit as Steve flashed his sunshine smile, then stiffen again as Steve took a step toward the chair. “Steve?” Bucky’s voice wobbled uncertainly.

How was _Steve_ here?

Bucky shook his head in horror as Steve moved to sit in the chair. “No. Steve, what - ? No, don’t, you have to get out of here!” Steve gave him a beatific smile as technicians swarmed around him and the circular device lowered down to his head. “It’s okay, Buck. Everything will be okay now.”

“NO!” Bucky screamed. “Steve!” He tried to move forward, to pull Steve out of the chair, but he still couldn’t move. Ice was spreading across his skin, and he felt the cryotube closing in around him. “NO! STEVE!”

Suddenly he could move again. Bucky sat bolt upright, too terrified to wonder when he’d shifted to a prone position. His movement brought him nose to nose with someone who had been looming over him. Green eyes stared into his own, and Bucky swung, knocking his attacker back. He didn’t know what had happened to make him able to move again, but it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting Steve out of here.

His attacker yelped in surprise, her hands going to her nose, but Bucky ignored that. He rolled off the bed, moving as soon as his feet hit the floor. “Steve!” he called, moving into the next room. Where was he? It was different from where he’d been. This was a home, not a lab, but he didn’t recognize it. “Steve! Where are you?” He searched frantically.

_Where was he?_

A hand grasped his arm, and he swung around, fist ready, then froze as he realized those green eyes were familiar. “I know you…”

The woman cocked a dark eyebrow at him, her hand holding his arm easily. She was strong. Bucky’s eyes flickered over her, noting caramel-colored skin, dark hair, and the worn t-shirt she was wearing. Her legs and feet were bare, and for some reason that fact jolted him back to reality. “Bree?”

“Finally,” she said. “I’ve been calling your name. That was one mighty nightmare, Bucky.”

Bucky staggered, going to his knees. “I – did I hurt you?”

“Pshh.” Bree let go of his arm and waved a manicured hand. “Got me in the nose.” She wiped a bit of bright blood away. “It’s nothing. Only thing really hurt is my pride.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Bucky said helplessly. “I – Steve…”

“I said it’s nothing.” Bree knelt in front of him, looking him over. “You’re shaking.” She reached out and gingerly patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Just a nightmare.”

“Steve,” is all Bucky could bring himself to say. She was right. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Was it cold in the apartment or was it him? He couldn’t ask Friday. Stark had left her disabled here, thinking Bucky might not want an AI intruding on his personal space. Surprisingly perceptive of him.

“He’s fine, he’s likely sound asleep.” Bree studied Bucky’s face for a moment, then sighed. “Come on. We’ll go wake the good Captain up so you can see for yourself. You’ll never get back to sleep otherwise.” She helped him to his feet and they headed out of the apartment. Bucky had to lean on her quite a bit as his limbs refused to cooperate, but she bore his considerable weight easily.

The elevator proved to be a problem. Once they were in with the doors shut, Friday’s voice rang out from wherever the speaker was. “Unauthorized access.” A red light began flashing above. Bree hissed and shifted into an attack position. She glared around, obviously trying to locate the owner of the voice.

Bucky had an unexpected urge to laugh. He suppressed it and said, “She’s with me, Friday. Take us to Steve’s floor, please.” He knew Friday was an artificial entity, but politeness was too deeply ingrained. Winifred Barnes would have smacked him upside the head for speaking impolitely to any woman, artificial or no.

There was a pause. “Sergeant Barnes, I have no record of this woman entering the tower. Furthermore, I can find no record of her existence in public records.”

Bucky’s metal fist impacted the side of the elevator, leaving a dent. “Take. Us. There,” he snarled. So much for politeness. “ _Please_ ,” he managed to add, the word coming out with a more plaintive tone than he’d intended.

Bree had relaxed her stance. If she was embarrassed by her reaction, she didn’t show it. She scowled up at the ceiling of the elevator. “He needs to see his friend is all right. If you have any honor whatsoever, you will take him there. You and I can make our acquaintance later.”

There was another pause, then the elevator jerked into motion. Bucky leaned his head against the cool metal, trying to breath normally. Logically, he knew Steve was fine. But the dream images refused to fade from his mind.

Steve was waiting when they arrived, Friday having apparently alerted him. He’d obviously been sleeping. He wore only a pair of sweatpants, and his hair was a rumpled mess. Bucky flung himself into his arms without a word, shaking like a leaf.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice was worried, and Bucky heard Bree begin to explain. He closed his eyes and let himself relax in Steve’s arms. Steve was here, unharmed, and for a few moments Bucky let himself just rest in that knowledge. He’d deal with everything else in a bit.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have left kudos and comments! It's been difficult to write due to RL but you help keep me going. :)

Thunder woke Bucky, and he blinked awake in the dim light of morning. He was warm and comfortable, and he found his eyelids trying to close again until he realized some of the warmth was a firm body pressed against his. His eyes flew wide and he stiffened.

“We used to sleep like this back in the day,” Steve said quietly, and Bucky’s eyes sought his automatically. Steve was on his back staring up at the ceiling, his face peaceful though he had to have noticed Bucky had tensed next to him.

After a moment, Bucky gave up and relaxed back into the warmth, even going so far as to let his head rest on his friend’s shoulder. “I remember, punk. You were always sick and cold. And half the time we had no heat in the winter.”

“Mhm. And in the war, we slept better this way. Helped with the nightmares.”

“Did it?” Bucky wondered aloud. “I don’t remember that part.”

Steve snorted. “One night we were sleeping apart, and we somehow managed to scream ourselves awake at the same time. Morita hauled you up outta your tent and shoved you into mine. When you protested, the whole camp cussed you out. Dum-Dum told you to shut up and go to sleep so everybody else could.”

Bucky couldn’t hold in the laugh that escaped. “Sounds like them. I think – I think I remember that now. Geez Steve, I’m sorry I woke ya.”

“Oh shut it, jerk. I was awake anyway. I don’t sleep so good either, you know. Slept better once you were here.”

“Yeah?” Bucky moved his head so he could see Steve again. The storm seemed to have subsided, and the room was beginning to brighten with sunlight. He noticed Steve’s ears seemed to be turning pink.

“Yeah. Breakfast?” 

“God, yes. After a shower.” Bucky made a face. “I think I stink.”

“I know you stink,” Steve told him, his eyebrows doing that thing they did when he was amused. “I’ll go make pancakes.”

Breakfast was nice, until Friday evidently tattled that they were awake. No sooner had Bucky finished his pancakes than he’d been ambushed by the rest of the Avengers (the ones onsite anyway) and grilled about Bree. Evidently Natasha had been allowed in last night to verify Steve and Bucky were okay, then kicked right back out, at which point Bree had barred the door. She’d refused to answer any questions from any of the Avengers, and when Stark turned hostile, she’d…

“Turned him into a toad?” Bucky’s jaw dropped.

“Not exactly,” Natasha said, grinning. “Made him think he was a toad.”

“The hopping and croaking were disturbing,” Clint added, scratching his chin.

Stark grumbled into his coffee and shifted uneasily, glancing around as if expecting Bree to appear at any moment.

“I don’t know where she is,” Bucky told him. “Nor am I sure what she is, other than some sort of fae.”

“Phouka, probably,” Steve added, his face thoughtful.

Bucky nodded at him. “Based on your ma’s stories, yeah. Possibly.”

Steve beamed at him. “You remember those?”

“Wait, wait,” Clint interrupted. “She’s a fairy?”

Steve stiffened in alarm, while Bucky shot out of his chair to clamp a hand over Clint’s mouth. “Don’t call her that! They hate that!”

This generated more questions, until Bucky finally put on a pot of coffee while Steve walked everyone through Fae 101 ala Sarah Rogers. There were exclamations of disbelief, especially from Stark, and a lot of thoughtful looks. Stark finally stomped out upon sipping his fresh cup of coffee and finding the sugar he’d put in it had somehow turned to salt. Again. “That’s what you get for calling her a furry monstrosity,” Bucky told him as he went, and Clint looked at his own cup of coffee with worry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time, but that's where it wanted to break. Next one will be longer, I promise!

Fae 101 got repeated again when Sam arrived from visiting his mother. He listened quietly, arms crossed and a faint frown on his face. He was quiet for a few moments when Steve finished, then asked, “Have you all lost your minds?” He held up a hand before anyone could respond. “Not questioning the phouka. That’s not even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week. But why in hell does this woman – fae – cat – whatever have free run of the Tower?”

Bucky snorted. “How do you suggest we try to stop her?”

“Now you’re asking the right question,” Sam said, and Bucky frowned.

“She doesn’t seem hostile,” Steve said. “Mischievous, sure, but she hasn’t tried to hurt anybody.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Based on what you know, Steve and Bucky, do you think attempts to keep her out might be construed as an insult?”

Both men nodded.

Sam threw up his hands. “This is crazy.”

“She was actually helpful last night,” Bucky said quietly. “I was – it was –“ he pursed his lips and looked down at his empty breakfast plate. “I was disoriented from a nightmare. Bad one. She pulled me out of it.”

Clint clapped him on the shoulder on his way to refill his coffee. “We all got ‘em, bro. Talk to Doc Kennedy about it. Good man. Put my head back together after Loki.” 

Bucky hummed noncommittally. He wouldn’t have been comfortable with this topic if Stark had still been there. But he knew Steve understood, and Natasha and Clint had been through their own mind-altering hells. And Sam was a counselor and had probably heard it all. Bucky glanced up at Steve and raised his eyebrows, wondering if the blond was keeping up his end of their agreement.

Steve quirked his own eyebrows, then lowered them in understanding and nodded an assurance that yes, he was keeping his own therapy appointments.

“Man, ya’ll are doing it again,” Sam complained. “I swear you two share a single brain.”

Steve started to reply, but the Avengers Assemble alarm went off, and that was the end of the discussion.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought this one would be longer. I forgot how bad I am at writing fight scenes. Ugh.

The fight wasn’t going well. 

According to Natasha’s intel, this base should have been lightly manned, nearly deserted in fact. It wasn’t.

“Retreat,” came Steve’s voice across their comms. 

“You think?” was Sam’s reply. “Is it me, or were these guys expecting us?” He was breathing heavily.

“It’s not you,” Natasha contributed, sounding bored. “I need to pay a visit to someone when we’re done here.”

“Is that going to be a broken bones visit? I feel like you’re going to break somebody’s bones. I’m coming in.” Stark had been outside, ready to explode the place when they were done. “Find what we’re looking for at least?”

“No,” Bucky snarled, punching a Hydra goon in the face. Not.” He spun and kicked, getting another goon. “A damn.” His knife slid between ribs of a third. “Thing.”

“Less chatter, more retreating,” Steve said. “Fall back to the hanger like planned.” Bucky could hear the distinctive metallic sound of the shield finding targets, telling him Steve was nearby. Steve and Wanda had gone in through one entrance, while Bucky, Sam, and Natasha had gone through another. Clint, Thor, and Vision were back at the tower, on standby in case something came up while the rest were gone. Bucky wished they had come along. Especially the Asgardian. A bit of lightning wouldn’t go amiss right now.

Bucky rounded a corner, Sam and Natasha behind him, in time to see Steve kicking down the door to the hanger. He followed Wanda in, expecting to see the Iron Man suit there ahead of them, but saw nothing but rows of jeeps and a single jet plane. “Weren’t you coming in, Stark? I expected a hole in the hanger wall.” Bucky turned in a circle on his heel, frowning. “Okay, no goons in here? This feels fishy.”

On the bright side, nobody appeared seriously injured. Sam had what was going to be an impressive black eye, Natasha was favoring one ankle slightly, and Wanda didn’t seem to have a scratch. Bucky turned his eyes to Steve just as his friend clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, jerk. Stark, you doing okay?”

Bucky looked Steve up and down, finding nothing alarming. Stark’s response, however, was a bit alarming. “Bit – busy – Cap.” 

Steve opened his mouth, probably to tell Sam to go back up Stark, but hidden doors in the hanger burst open and all hell broke loose.

“I told you, punk!” Bucky yelled, starting to pick off Hydra goons with the last of his ammunition. 

Steve didn’t bother replying. The ensuing battle was messy. Bucky resorted to knife work, stabbing and slicing as he twisted and turned, deftly avoiding most of the blows aimed in his direction. He saw a bullet get Steve in the thigh, and his insides turned to ice.

A familiar laugh coming from one of the jeeps only added to his worry. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a dark female figure clad in a blue sparkly dress, standing on one of the jeeps.

“Well, well,” Bree trilled out. “Just look at all these repulsive little people. The absolute worst that humanity has to offer.” She laughed again, and the Hydra goon doing a deadly dance with Bucky tripped over suddenly untied shoelaces. The distraction was enough for Bucky to finish him off, sliding a knife between his ribs. 

In fact, Hydra goons were tripping over their own shoelaces all over the hanger. Guns malfunctioned, exploding in their faces. Knives turned slippery with butter, sliding out of hands. A light fixture from far overhead came crashing down, somehow missing all of the Avengers but landing in the middle of a veritable goon cluster.

Amid the chaos, Bree clapped her hands and laughed, her voice a merry peal across the air.

The battle ended quickly after that. Bree stepped down from the top of the Jeep, her high heels tapping across the hanger floor to Bucky. She wore a satisfied smirk on her face. “And thus is my debt to you discharged, Bucky Barn – “

A shot rang out, and blood bloomed across the back of the sparkling blue dress.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor edit to the previous chapter - Bree was shot in the back, not the front. D'oh!

The shooter, a Hydra agent who had apparently been playing possum, went down from a repulsor blast, signaling Iron Man’s arrival. Bucky’s eyes, however, were glued to Bree in horror as she pitched forward. He caught her hastily by the shoulders and eased her to the floor. 

“Hydra goons outside dealt with, and all on my own thank you. I’m fine, thanks for asking, whoa!” Stark popped his faceplate open. “Casualty. That doesn’t look good.”

Bucky ignored him, focusing on Bree. Her face was twisted in pain, and she clawed at her back uselessly. “Get it out,” she sobbed. “Cold iron – ah! It burns. Get it out, get it out, get it ouuuuuuut. _Please.”_

“Shit.” Bucky pulled out his only clean knife. It was his favorite, and he always tended to save it for last. It also wasn’t made of steel. “Titanium, no iron,” he said in explanation, and Bree nodded, biting her lip.

“Wha – no! Not here! It’s not sterile,” Sam interjected, putting a hand on Bucky’s arm. 

“Let’s get her to the quinjet,” Steve ordered, and Stark immediately began to argue. 

“Hello, state of the art surgical center provided by yours truly back at the tower.” Stark frowned. “Is anybody even listening to me?”

Bucky cursed and put the knife back, moving to lift Bree into his arms. “No,” she wailed. “Please. Get it out.” Her breath came in pained gasps.

“It’s okay,” Bucky told her. “Hang on. We’re going to the quinjet, and we’ll take care of it there.” He shifted her a little in his arms, taking care with her wound, then began to run, leaving the arguing Stark for Steve to deal with. He really didn’t like how her complexion was starting to pale.

Sam huffed and puffed, trying to keep up as they ran across the warehouse floor. “Man, screw you super-powered assholes. Do I need to go into how much I don’t like the idea of you doing surgery with a knife in the quinjet? Stark is right.”

“ _Thank_ you…”

“Shut up and run, slowpoke,” Bucky shot back. “Do I need to go into how cold iron is poisonous to her kind? Were you and Stark not listening the first time?”

“Can it, all of you,” Steve ordered tersely. The Avengers all piled into the quinjet at varying speeds, Stark stepping out of his armor and heading to the cockpit while Sam took charge of Bree’s care. Bucky was happy to let him, considering Sam’s paramedic skills, even going so far as to relinquish the titanium knife.

Bree, however, was not happy with this development. She didn’t seem to mind Sam positioning her on her side on the cot and making sure she was as comfortable as possible, but the moment he approached her with the knife she hissed, displaying sharp teeth.

“Look, I’m not happy about this either,” Sam told her in a calm voice. “I have to cut your dress to get to the wound better, and I’m pretty sure the scissors are stainless steel.”

“We gotta take care of this, Bree,” Bucky interjected. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Steve shift his weight, no doubt preparing to issue more orders. That was the last thing they needed. “You’re going kinda gray. We gotta get that thing out.”

The phouka gave him a withering look. “Yes. But not him. You,” she spat out between gritted teeth.

Bucky snatched the knife back out of Sam’s hands, prompting a “Hey!” “Sorry, Sam, normally I’d agree this oughta be you, not me. But do you really want to argue with her? Hold still, Bree.”

Bree stilled her body, her breathing coming in shallow gasps, and Bucky started cutting away the back of her dress. “What the hell were you thinkin’ coming into a battle dressed like this anyway?” he asked, ignoring Sam’s mutters. Bree growled under her breath, but remained still. Once the back of her dress was cut away, red, inflamed skin could be seen spreading out from the bullet wound.

“Well, this looks like shit,” Bucky informed her, and she began to laugh weakly. “Hold still.” He took the alcohol wipe Sam handed him and cleaned the area. “Last chance to have the guy with actual medical training do this.” She just growled again. “Okay then.”

“Wait wait at least let me give her some morphine or something,” Sam protested.

“How you gonna get it into her Sam? What are needles made of anyway?”

“…Shit. Never mind.”

Natasha rose from where she’d been sitting quietly, removed the leather belt she’d been wearing, and offered it to Bree to bite on.

“Great,” Sam grumbled. “Surgery with a knife – gimme that and let me sterilize it at least – in a quinjet on a non-sedated, painkiller-free patient, done by a former assassin. Here, take your surgical implement, Doc Amateur.” He’d stopped protesting about waiting until they got to the Tower. The red streaks were visibly spreading, and Bree’s eyes had gone glazed.

Bucky gripped the knife for a brief moment, then bent to his task. A loose strand of hair fell in his eyes, and Steve moved behind him to gather it up. The next few minutes were a montage of blood, pained whimpers, and sweat in his eyes, but finally he had the bullet in his fingers. He let Sam move in for cleanup. Bree had gone quiet, apparently unconscious. Stark had stopped grumbling from the cockpit. The quinjet was quiet, and Bucky collapsed onto a seat.


End file.
